Centurion
by Hicc
Summary: Hiccup returns home after 10 years away in service of the Roman Legion. How will his people receive him, how will Astrid, and what in her life has changed. And more importantly, why was Hiccup willfully a part of the Legion in the first place? Questions abound, but will their be answers?
1. Chapter 1

**I have no idea where this came from. Just a random one shot that popped into my head. Hope you guys like it. Might do something more with it, might not. T for sexual references. For now, anyway.**

A young man stood on the prow of a great Roman warship sailing the cold and lonely waters of the straits between Britannia and Europa. He contemplating his life up to that point, the adventures and pitfalls, loves and losses and old hurts who's scares had long faded. His right hand rested on the hilt of his sword, the Crimson cape of a Centurion flowed off of his armored shoulders and lapped at the soft breeze that drifted around him. Though he was surrounded by Legionnaires and Centurions alike, the man was alone in every sense of the word. Though he was dressed in the armor and clothing of a noble Roman commander, he was different from the men around him. His skin was pale and freckled, his body long and lean where as the skin of his comrades was olive and bronze, their forms short and powerfully build. He took a deep breath and released it in a sigh, his left hand closing around the hammer pendent about his neck.

"Vulcan." The young man's green eyes turned to the older man who had called his name. The man likewise wore the armor of the Legion thought much more richly adorned with symbols wreathed in gold. His face and hands were haggard by a carrier of warfare and strife. His eyes were a rich brown that shown with an inner light of wisdom and intelligence. He was an averaged sized man, not a colossal mountain like the Centurion's Kinsmen but neither was he short and squat. Unlike the Centurion, the older man looked every inch the noble Roman, from his posture to his educate.

"Yes General," said the Centurion, turning to face his commander. His hand released the pendent, fisting and clapping the iron plate of his armor.

"At ease boy" said the general with a soft laugh. "No need to be so ridged around an old friend and certainly not while we sail."

"Sorry Marcus, I know" said the man called Vulcan. It did not take a military genius to see that Vulcan was troubled, his mind very far away. Their breath haloed their faces in the pale light of the moon, the cold night causing them to draw their capes close around their bodies to keep them warm. Armor was little comfort in the cold, and always heavy and hot in the heat. It was something Vulcan never liked to wear, favoring the thin tunics and flowing robes of the capital. He had spent enough of his life in the bitter cold, the heat of the capital had become like the welcoming arms of a lover to him.

"What troubles you, son?" asked the General kindly.

"Nothing sir, just thinking about home" said Vulcan, gazing at the moon.

"Aye, got a girl back there do you? Family and friends?" the young man chuckled at Marcus' comment and gave a light nod of his head.

"Yeah, you could say that" he said softly. "At least I did, once. Everything I have now is a gift from the Emperor."

"A gift well earned!" crowed Marcus, clapping Vulcan on the shoulder.

"Aye General, and it is my honor to serve him. But…I gave up a lot to be in his service."

"Well don't keep an old man in the dark, tell me about her lad." The mirth on the general's face was undeniable. One thing that Vulcan always admired about the old general was his sense of humor, it never failed him when times were hardest and it gave the other men courage and always boosted moral.

"Well," he said thoughtfully, settling down onto a stool. "She's a fiery girl, you'd approve I think. Long blonde hair that shines like gold in the summer son. Alabaster skin as white as the marble of the capital and as soft as mountain snow…eyes like the noon day after a storm," he said, his eyes misting and his voice tightening at the memory. Then his handsome features turned up in a wry grin which he shot at Marcus. "And a fist like stone!" Both men laughed at that, Marcus more heartily than Vulcan.

"Aye lad," he said, catching his breath and slapping his knee. "Northmen girls tend to be a bit feisty don't they?"

"Sounds like there's a story in there somewhere" commented Vulcan.

"Oh not really," said Marcus, brushing the comment off with an amusingly strait face. "Not much to tell anyway." he gave Vulcan an elbow as his smile returned. "My wife is of the Northmen tribes…she broke my arm the first time I asked her to bed."

"Ouch," commented Vulcan with a chuckle.

"Worth every bit of it though" the two men shared a knowing grin and more laughter. After a moment of silence Marcus continued, "A rare breed the northern women are," he continued, his voice soft and respectful. "Good women the lot of them. Strong, proud. They do their people a credit. Roman women could learn a great deal from them don't you think?" The mirth returned to his voice as he started to chuckle again.

"Yes…I remember when we used to lay together at night…the warmth and softness of her skin, the smell of her hair, the-"

"Hold son, save _those _memories just for you. Hold them close to your heart and let them comfort you in the long dark of night when you are alone and cold on some distant battle field." The warmth and wisdom of his commander's words struck him at his core.

"Very well, General…I will," Vulcan said softly, a look of peace passing over his face.

"That pendent there," Said Marcus, changing the subject and gesturing to the little iron hammer that hung from Vulcan's throat. "That is the sign of your god, yes?" Vulcan nodded.

"Thor's Hammer," he said. "It's supposed to protect me and bring me glory in battle. She insisted I wear it…gods that was almost a decade ago."

"I'd say it has worked so far. You rose from a simple foot solder to a Centurion faster than anyone I have ever known" said Marcus.

"I think that has had more to do with my dragon than with my own abilities" he said with a quirky grin, scratching the stubble that grew on his chin. "General, may I ask you something?"

"Of course lad," said the old General, finally joining his Centurion on a stool.

"Why do you call me Vulcan?" Marcus smirked.

"Vulcan is one of our gods." He answered regally. "He supposedly forged the world, unmatched with the blacksmith's hammer he is. Despite his esteem and great skill, his mother threw him out of heaven and his fall to earth left him lame." Marcus pointed at his Centurion's left leg. "I figured the name was appropriate." Both men laughed at that, letting silence rein once more.

"Say General, why did Vulcan's mother cast him out of heaven?" Marcus laughed at the question.

"Because he was ugly!" Both men roared with laughter, whipping tears from their eyes and holding their sides.

"Speaking of that big lizard of your's," said Marcus looking around. "where is the beast?" Vulcan blinked.

"Good question," said Vulcan, looking around in curiosity. "I'm sure he is lurking around here somewhere, raiding the fish stores or napping on a yard arm."

"That dragon of your's is an interesting creature. I'm not so certain they are cut out for war," said the old general thoughtfully.

"You're right there Marcus," Vulcan affirmed. "Dragons are too simple and too lazy to enjoy fighting, at least most breeds."

"One of these days you'll have to tell me how you came by that creature," said the old general longingly. "Maybe after this whole bloody conflict for Brittan is over and we can go home." Although his face had fallen briefly, a smile reappeared almost immediately as he continued. "And get drunk off of fine wine and fornicate until we can't stand."

"Here here!" cheered Vulcan. "And maybe you're right," he said with a nod. "That kind of story is best told around a roaring fire with bad food and worse drink."

"Well lad, luckily for you" Marcus threw his arm around Vulcan's shoulder and led him toward the aft cabin. "We have all of that right here." Vulcan shook his head and chuckled.

"Well then general, stoke up the fire, pass around the drink and hand out the beef."

The general crowed with mirth and called to all men on deck to meet below for food drink and stories. The men all cheered and gathered round. They kicked open doors and threw windows wide so that the whole ship could hear. From the helmsmen to the quartermaster, every man that could listen was in ear shot of the story to be told. Why all the intrigue? From the very first day that the Viking had blundered into their camp, wounded and on the door step of death, the men of the 73rd Legion had wondered at his strange and awesome companion. Tonight, it seemed, they were getting their much awaited answer.

"Well…where to begin…" he began.

"At the beginning!" called one of the sailors, the cook if he wasn't mistaken. Vulcan chuckled and nodded.

"Very well, it all started when I was a boy, growing up on a tiny island in the north…"

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The moon had set. Vulcan's story had taken hours to complete and every man had listened with wrapped attention and in utter silence. They had laughed at the jokes, and the mishaps. Cheered at the triumphs and booed, loudly, at the betrayals. When he finished, the men muttered quietly and respectfully amongst themselves, sharing their opinions of the story. They all agreed that the tale was fantastic, glorious, and awe inspiring. Especially at the end.

"Did it all really happen Vulcan," asked one of the sailors. "Was it really true?" It was not that he disbelieved or thought him a liar. The story was just so fantastic even Vulcan questioned whether or not it actually happened. And he had lived it.

"Every word" he said solemnly. With that, the men stood up and went to get rack time, or return to their posts. Vulcan himself sat in a recently vacated stool, setting down his tankard of wine. Oddly, Marcus had remained completely silent through the whole tale. He remained seated near the fire, leaning on his hands which rested on his knees. "Something wrong old friend? You look like you don't believe."

"No lad, quite the opposite." He didn't elaborate, and when it seemed like no more information was forthcoming, Vulcan took a shot.

"So you're just brooding over old man issues then." Marcus' eyes rolled in their sockets until they landed on Vulcan. Vulcan just cracked a grin and lifted a brow. Marcus sighed.

"I was just thinking of your description of the giant dragon. It reminds me of the tale I grew up with. Horror stories of monstrous sea creatures rising out of the waves to swallow ships whole, or wipe out an entire Legion in one breath. It makes me wonder…"

"Perhaps there is more than one?" offered Vulcan.

"Exactly. And worse, perhaps the old fish tales and children's stories I heard as a child were not so fantastic." It was Vulcan's turn to fall silent. The thought had never occurred to him, that the monster he slew as a child might have relatives. Bigger, angrier relatives.

"I'm sure we wont run into any more of them," Vulcan said with a hollow grin. "And even if we do you have me and my dragon to kill it."

"That's true lad…but what if we _don't _have you. What if you are on leave, or dead, or injured?" He sighed and his brow furrowed. "Vulcan I know we have been over this a thousand times but…we need more dragon riders." Vulcan's expression darkened.

"You know where I stand on that General" Vulcan said solemnly.

"Yes, lad I do. But, if I were to order you to do it? What could you do?"

"I would take my dragon and flee, you would never see me again."

Marcus was not going to press the issue. They had been around and around on this subject and never made any headway. Marcus could not convince Vulcan and Vulcan couldn't sway the mind of the emperor, no matter how often he tried. The fact was the emperor wanted a flight of dragons to augment his army, and who could blame him? Mastery of the skies would mean Roman dominance of the known world for generations. Rome would become a power unrivaled, the whole of the world would come under Roman rule and no one would be able to stop them. Not Brittan, not Persia not even the undiscovered cultures to the far east. No one would be able to stand against them. But Vulcan was immovable on the subject. He would not do it, no matter what Marcus threatened, no matter the gift that was promised. Vulcan was a very rare man, he could not be bought, threatened, bribed or intimidated. It seemed that where dragons were concerned, he would rather die than allow them to become weapons of war.

"I know lad…" Marcus said with a sigh. "I'm sorry, if it were up to me I would let the matter die but…"

"I know, old friend," Vulcan replayed with a soft wave of his hand, speaking in gentle, pleading tones. "But I beg you to understand my point of view. You said it yourself, the dragons are not meant for war. The are simple creatures, kind and protective. War is not in their nature, it's not in their blood like it is yours and mine. To force them to make war on others would destroy them."

"Aye lad, but it's not me you have to convince…"

His pleas had fallen on deaf ears in the capital, but not on the battlefield. The Republic and the Emperor did not want to hear no when they made a request. Did no believe in "it can't be done," but Marcus was a military man. He had trained enough men to know that some just didn't have the stomach for war. So it was with the dragons, or so Vulcan claimed. But Marcus also knew Vulcan well enough that if he said something was so, then it was so. Whenever he and Vulcan spoke on taming the dragons for war, he always felt it strained their friendship. Marcus knew why, and he knew Vulcan knew as well. Marcus was a solder, he had orders and sooner or later that conflict would have to come to a head. But for now, he was willing to let it go. Vulcan was a good solder, a good leader and a good man. The gods knew Marcuse needed more men like him. Silence reined for a long time between them, before Marcus spoke, a sly smile on his lips.

"So lad, I've been meaning to ask you." He crossed one leg over the other as he shifted in his seat.

"Anything General" said Vulcan, straitening up, glad that their painful conversation was over.

"What kind of name for a Viking is Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third?"

"…don't get me started…"

**This was shorter than I wanted it to be, which bugs me. Anyway, hope you liked it, and I really hope it wasn't too painfully obvious who Vulcan was from the beginning.**


	2. Homeland

Homeland

The rain fell light, cold and constant on the small troop of Roman solders, more like a thick mist than actual rain. When coupled with the wind blowing off the plains the cold chilled the bones of the small Legion, who were crowded around their cook fires for what meager warmth they gave off. Brittan was a miserable island. If it wasn't raining it was sleeting, if it wasn't sleeting it was snowing and if it wasn't snowing the wind was blowing hard enough to deafen. The Romans, used to the warm temperate climate of the Mediterranean, were not coping well with the north wind. Moral was so low it may as well have been in the grave.

"Look at the Centurion" said one of three men at a small fire on the fringe of their little camp, his hands pressed so close to the fire the flames licked at this fingers. The man about whom he was talking stood stoically at his post, leaning on his lance for support against the shrieking wind. So absorbed in his watch was he that he did not seem to hear them, despite their close proximity.

"What about him?" grumbled his companion who was shivering so hard his armor rattled.

"The wind cuts to the bone and he's not even shaking…"

"Aye…" said the third, who had been quite until now. "He's from the north, farther than the Legion normally goes. Viking or so I've heard. Them Northmen are said to charge into battle in the howling snow in not but a few skins. That their blood is frozen in their veins like water in the mountain streams."

A smirk crossed the face of the Centurion as he listened, and he could hear them quite clearly, and gave his chin a scratch as he spoke.

"No, Legionnaire Gaius. No ice in these veins." The men fell silent and adopted a posture, more or less, like a child caught whispering about a parent. "You just get used to it…"

"Yeah, when?" The new voice was laced with a gruff sort of mirth, its owner an elder man who had walked up to join them.

"General Marcus! Sir!" All four men, the Centurion included, snapped to attention.

"Oh at ease boys, go back to your fires." The three Legionnaires were more than happy to oblige but the Centurion remained standing at attention. "Come Vulcan, join me by my fire, let's talk."

"Yes sir." The general ordered the three men at their camp to take up the watch, but allowed them to remain by their fires. Not even the Wodes liked to raid in this kind of whether. They may have been mad and utter fools, but they were far from stupid.

"Hiccup" said the old man as he eased into a chair by his fire, outside his command tent. "I received a message from Rome today." There was no merriment in his words, the warmth and joy as absent from his speech as it was from the land itself. The uncharacteristic melancholy was not lost on his young commander.

"What is it sir?" Marcus sighed and shifted, stalling for time. Hiccup lifted an eyebrow and tapped his booted foot. Marcus sighed again.

"Fine." He pulled a small scroll from a bag on his hip and handed it to Hiccup begrudgingly. "You're discharge papers…" Hiccup's head shot up, shock and confusion marring his features.

"Sir…I…I don't."

"Shut up, Hiccup. _I _put your papers through…It's time you went home lad. Don't you want to go home?"

"I…I do but…" he stammered, unsure of how to say it.

"You owe me one?" Marcus finished for him.

"Sir, I owe you my life."

"Your life be damned!" Bellowed the general, standing up in flurry like a storm. "You've done more for me and more for Rome than any man ever has in a life time" he said, waving his hands around for emphasis. "You owe me nothing, lad." His face fell somber and thoughtful. "Hiccup, you've been like a son to me… There has never been a commander in all the world more proud of a solder than I am of you."

Hiccup stared silently at the floor, the discharge orders gripped firmly in his hand with his head bowed. Silence reined, uncomfortable and nerve racking. For how many years had he wanted to hear that from his own father, how many times had he tried to illicit the same amount of pride from a Chieftain as he did from his General? What was the difference? The answer was simple; one killed dragons, the other embraced them.

"We sail in two weeks…" Hiccup looked up again, not sure he had heard his general correctly.

"We?" Hiccup asked confused.

"Well you didn't think I'd let you go all alone did you? I intend to see you all the way there."

"I'm not sure that's such a good idea…"

"Why? Because Vikings and Romans aren't drinking buddies? You are one of us Hiccup, and I intend to make sure your people see you for the man you are."

Hiccup recognized that look on Marcus's face, he wasn't going to budge on this issue.

"Very well sir."

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It was nearing mid day on the island of Berk, the sun shinning brightly through the clouds and turning the surface of the ocean to glass. The winter ice was melting away nicely and the air was slowly warming to a tolerable temperature. Berk had only three seasons; Summer, Winter and Devastating Winter. With the cold months over, sea and air travel would be viable again. Trade with their neighbors and raids on their enemies would resume.

On this fine, early summer day, a twenty five year old Astrid road the warm winds that rose off of the ocean on the back of her trusted Nadder, Stormfly. She had taken to riding Stormfly more often lately, for a myriad of reasons. Life had gotten quite a bit harder lately.

After Hiccup had gone and gotten himself lost so many years ago, a lot had needed to change. She, as well as the other teens, had had to take over a lot of his responsibilities, namely the Dragon Academy.

Flying had helped a lot. It took her mind off of her chores, her training, her responsibilities with the Academy and with her family…Hiccup. Yes, she could admit it, she was big enough now, she had missed him a lot, who could blame her? She and Hiccup were never a real thing, nothing serious or at least not too serious. Sure they had fooled around a little here and there but they had never been an item. But she liked to think that, with time…maybe.

Still, regardless of any deeper feelings that may or many not have been present, it was hard to take the loss of a good friend and a natural leader. They all felt lost without his guidance and natural affinity for dragons…but they had persevered and even excelled. It just took longer than all of them felt it should have. Between the twins incessant fighting, Snotlout's unhindered boasting and Fishlegs' relentless fact spouting it was a miracle they ever got _anything _done at all.

But they had, and now the Berk Academy was strong than ever, accepting new cadets from every village from all around the Barbaric Archipelago. It was really amazing to see so many young people turn out to learn about Dragons, from how to ride to studying how and where they breed and behave in the wild.

As she flew she was pulled from her brooding by a small glint on the ocean's surface, far off in the distance. She looked closer and caught sight of a small black dot on the horizon, heading for Berk. It was obviously a ship but it was still too early in the season for traders to make it this far north, the ice had only melted away a week ago.

Stomrfly squawked and tried to bank right, away from the ship but Astrid was curious and turned the head of her bird-brained dragon left to get a closer look. She covered the considerable distance in only a few minutes and as the dot became ever more distinguishable, Astrid became ever more concerned. When finally it came into clear view, her breath caught in her chest.

It was a Bireme.

With a firm yank to Stormfly's reins she wheeled the large beast about and made a bee line back to Berk. She had to warn the Chief, A Roman Warship this far north could only mean trouble.

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Hiccup lazed against the side of his dragon down in the hold of the Roman warship. Toothless was out like a candle in a high wind with a belly full of fish. Hiccup had made sure to give him an extra ration to make sure he stayed conked out until they got to Berk, he didn't want him going crazy on deck because they were heading home.

While Toothless may have been dead to the world. Hiccup found sleep evaded him. Even after two all night watches he was unable to get more than a few hours of restless sleep. It was not excitement at going home that kept him awake at night, nor elation nor joy…it was fear.

He had no idea how he would be resaved upon his return, or even if he truly wanted to return at all. Berk wasn't his home anymore, Rome was. The only things that had kept him on Berk had been Astrid and Toothless. Toothless could come with him and Astrid…he honestly didn't know what she would do, if she had gotten married. A testament to how little he actually knew her, he supposed.

Astrid was not all the weighed heavily on his mind. What would his father think? Hiccup could guess that Stoick would be glad to have his son home…but not in the company of Romans, let alone as one of their commanders.

Those and a thousand other things paraded around in a giant circle in his head, keeping him awake and forcing his heart to beat unnecessarily fast. It was amazing it didn't wake Toothless with all the pounding it was doing against his chest.

"Thought I might find you here." For once, Hiccup didn't jump to stand up or salute his General, the he supposed Marcus wasn't really his General anymore. Instead he just lounged against his dragon like the couch in his villa.

"Am I that predictable?" he asked, rubbing his eyes.

"No, but I remember what happened after the Gaul campaign." Hiccup groaned and rubbed his face with his hands.

"Don't remind me Marcus."

"The first is always the hardest…"

"Yes I remember you saying that, but it never got easier." Marcus chuckled.

"No, it certainly doesn't."

Marcus was referring to the day Hiccup killed his first man. They boy had adamantly refused to kill another person when he first agreed to join the Legion, and for a while he hadn't had too. But, just as Marcus had always told the boy, when it came down to him, or you, you chose yourself ever time. True to Marcus's predictions, when his life and the life of his dragon had been at stake, Hiccup had dispatched the Gualish barbarian without a second's thought or hesitation. The boy had been torn up for weeks after that, he had actually disappeared for a few days. Not that it was surprising, murder was not something any 16 year old should have to face…

"So, what's up?" Hiccup asked, shifting the subject.

"Just wanted to see how you were doing, excited to be headed home?"

"Honestly? No. Berk hasn't been my home for ten years, I'm not sure what to expect. From anyone."

"Well, you're going to find out, we should be in to port by night fall…"

Hiccup was sick.

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The sun was setting when the ship sailed into view of the island. Naturally all the warriors were armed and waiting on the docks, but it was very strange. A single ship was hardly an invading army or even much of a raid, particularly so far from home. Romans were not friendly to the Viking people so this could not have been a social visit, or an attempt at trade. Exactly what was up was anyone's guess.

As the sun sank into the sea and the ship drew ever closer the chief would call frequently for updates from the lookouts on the cliffs. Just as the sun slipped bellow the waves, Stoick got the word.

"Stoick!" cried the runner. "The lookouts. They say the Romans are flying a white flag!"

"What?" Stoick bellowed. He was about to question further when, born on a warm breeze, came voices. Not shouts or bellowed orders, but a shout in perfect Norse.

"Vikings of Berk" called out a voice over the roll of the waves against the rocks. "We come in peace and friendship. We have something of yours, something you lost many years ago. We wish to return it to you, with our complements and that of the Emperor. Do we have permission to dock?"

The looks of confusion were mutual among the villagers, not sure what the Roman shouting to them was talking about. What on earth could he mean, what had the village lost that the Romans, of all people, had found?

"You do" bellowed Stoick, just as lost and confused as everyone else. There was a moment's hesitation before a called "thank you" was shouted and the ship pulled up to the dock.

Astrid watched from the rear of the docks as the ship pulled in. Roaps were thrown to the Vikings on the wooden Dock so that the ship could be secured before a gangplank was lowered and a parade of Roman solders descended from the ship in a river of reds and browns.

The commander, a General by his gilded armor, stepped off the boat first and walked strait up to Stoick. Her chief dwarfed the older man, standing head and shoulders taller than him. The general clapped his right hand on his breast in salute and spoke. The didn't get a chance to say much as a collective gasp emanated from the crowed.

Astrid's pretty eyes went round as shields as a great, lumbering black silhouette appeared on the deck of the ship, haloed by the singe red sail. The night fury looked around his old home with unrecognizing eyes before leaping down the plank and running out onto the dock. In his wake walked a solder, dressed in the garb of a Centurion, that everyone instantly recognized and stared at. Hiccup stood alone at the top of the gangplank looking out over the crowed as if afraid to descend. Astrid swallowed, but couldn't seem to get past the lump that had formed in her throat.

And then his eyes fell on her, and the weight of that gaze crushed her. It felt like her mind had just stopped, unable to process that he was actually there and alive and standing not 40 yards away. She felt dizzy and faint and so angry she wanted to scream. She felt pulled in every direction imaginable all at once, part of her wanting to beat him to a pulp, another part wanting to run as far away as she could, while still others wanted to do a thousand other things all at the same time.

Before she realized it, he was standing in front of her, taller than her by at least two heads. He was still skinny, but there was definition in his body now. His shoulders and back looked strong, and so did his arms. He didn't slouch or shrug anymore, but stood up strait. She blinked and found she had to look up to see into his eyes which, now that she was close enough to see them, looked some how…subdued, sort of aged and clouded. She didn't know what to do, what to say, what to think. What _could _she do? What _could_ she say? His mouth opened as if to say something himself, when a call from the direction of the chief drew his attention away.

"Vulcan?" the moment broken, the young commander looked away.

"Etiam, Generalis?" he called.

"Huc puero pater suus aliquando dixisti"

"Etiam sir." Briefly, those familiar green eyes fell on her again and her brain _screamed_ at her to say _something!_ But he turned away before she could master herself and went to stand with the General...his general.

She watched, numb and confused and so completely lost about how she should feel, as Hiccup stood next to the General and before his father. Emotions roiled in her like the sea during a storm. What right did he have to just storm back into her world after all he had put her through? What right did he have to march back into Berk and turn her happy life upside down? Her fists clenched and unclenched as the urge to beat him came and went like waves on the beach.

She frowned, hand on her hips while she watched him converse with his long lost father. The chief said something, too soft for her to hear and Hiccup's reaction was instantaneous. His lip trembled, his head hung and his body collapsed into the arms of a father who had long ago accepted that his son was lost to him.

That lump in her throat hadn't gone away, and neither had the desire to give him a firm throttling. Her features are set in a firm frown and her arms cross in front of her. She still wasn't sure what or how to feel, or if she should even try to talk to Hiccup. So much had changed, ten years was a long time. She was certainly very different than she had been as a teenager and that was clearly not the same Hiccup she had known. As hard as life had been for her, she couldn't begin to imagine how hard it had been for him. Hiccup wasn't a warrior, how could he be a solder, and a commander at that?

She let her head fall into her hands, it felt like Snotlout had just bashed her upside the head with his mace. She needed to go lie down and get herself under control, and nurse this splitting head ache. She could deal with Hiccup later…she didn't think she would be getting much sleep tonight though.

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A sequel that I never really intended to write for Centurion. If there are mistakes I apologize, I was sick when I posted and couldn't read it through clearly.


End file.
